After
by natashas-barton
Summary: A series of vignettes following the various Hunger Games characters after the Rebellion is won. Exploring the suffering and joys of the days, months, and even years after after the Rebellion. Looking into each of these's characters' lives as they fight to move on, yet never forget. Rated T for possible language in future chapters.
1. Peace

**Author's Note: For those of you who follow my various Marvel/Clintasha fanfictions, I will be updating those soon. School has been crazy but with holidays around the corner I will have more time. This collection of vignettes is just a few short stories I wrote after seeing Mockingjay Part 2, and having many feelings I needed to get out. I have written several, but will only upload like one a week until I run out of them. After that, I'll update when I can, but I'm also going to focus on finishing my Marvel fics. Thank you all for who read my works, it means so much to me. I hope you enjoy these small stories.**

For years it was always about strength. The strength to move past her father's death, to provide for her family. From her first sacrifice to save her sister's life, to her sister's last act of selflessness to save others innocents. It was always about the fight, it was always about the victory.

The war was won. Despite all the costs, this precious victory was achieved.

And now came the peace...

Glazed grey eyes stared at the flames of the fireplace, a fire Greasy Sae had made to keep her warm. However the flames provided no warmth, only as a reminder of the destruction.

Her house was warm, and yet she shivered constantly. Her body never stopped moving, despite her deprivation of all energy. Like a wild animal, who's been fighting savagely all it's life, and then suddenly locked into a cage and forced to become domesticated.

Her teeth cut into her chapped lips with ever tremble of her jaw, sometimes piercing the skin and drawing blood. Her jaw is clenched constantly, occasionally she bites her tongue or the side of her mouth, but she never notices this pain. Her frail hands clasp the armrests, or sometimes her own leg, nails digging into the soft material, as if she was clinging for life. Her nails become claws, sharp and jagged like that of an animal, a mutt. She would occasionally jerk, as if startled or terrified. Yet her eyes retained an empty and disconnected look. She comprehended nothing, but her body felt everything.

Greasy Sae coaxes food into her. She eats it blindly, tasting nothing but the metallic grit of blood from her cut lips and gums. Her hygiene and health had decreased, but she doesn't notice.

Day after day she sits there, eyes fixed on the flames, as if she's empty of all emotions. She wasn't in this world, she was retaining what she lost in the old one.

In war she couldn't comprehend these emotions. She couldn't feel, because she couldn't be human. She didn't have to be.

Peace, well peace requires humanity. For months she reclaimed every emotion she had let slip her grasp during war. All at once the weight of everything fell upon her, and she felt it all.

Instead of the blanket Greasy Sae would lay on her shoulders, she would feel the jacket Cinna placed on her shoulders when she prepared to step into the Tribute tube. Her first true war uniform.

The smell of Greasy Sae's cooking turned into the raw flesh like stench that came when she walked through that hospital in District 8. The hospital that was obliterated, because her arrow hit it's mark.

She didn't see the simple innocence of Greasy Sae's granddaughter's presence, instead the young girl was a reminder of the hundreds of young children in front of that mansion.

When she was forced to bath, the warm water was far from relaxing. It burned against her raw "new" skin, but that was not the sensation that made her want to go weeks without bathing. The last time she had been in water, was in the sewer tunnels beneath the Capitol. It took months for her to stop flinching when the water moved around her.

Time passed slowly, but she didn't notice. Time was nothing now, the only thing she could wrap her head around was the question: how was the clock on her fireplace's mantle different from the clock she fought within?

Thunderstorms were unbearable. If it wasn't the rain, which she could have sworn was red against her window, it was the lighting. With every flash of electricity, she felt as if she was holding a sharp wire in her hand. Really, the painful sensation was her own nails digging into her soft palm. If it wasn't the wire, the presence of storms always brought about memories of when she was separated from Peeta, only to have him return and strangle her. Yet, on rare occasions she could think of something a little more pleasant, like the black pearl he gave her that night

Sometimes she would pull that pearl out, in those moments it provided her with the comfort she needed.

Progress.

Sleep? Sleep was worse than being awake. The pain of being sleep deprived was nothing compared to reliving when only a glass tube separated her and Cinna, as he was beat to a pulp and she was raised to die in an arena, again. At least when she was awake the stationary atmosphere of her house balanced these vivid and graphic memories. Staring at a wall was rather dull, but it was better than seeing your friend die over and over again, each time more bloody and gruesome than before.

Her empty and bloodshot eyes were drawn to the fireplace. Memorized by the flickering flames, like a bug attracted to a light. Through the flames she relived the fiery explosion that took her sister's life. She felt her skin ignite and succumb to the flames. Every time she looked into the fireplace she became the girl on fire all over again.

Despite the pain the sight of the flames became, it was impossible for her tired grey eyes to look anywhere else.

Everything she had fought for, was meant to create this life. A life of peace.

And that was exactly what she was left with, the peace of remembering every kill, loss, and torture, from comfort of her own home.

This was her peace.

 **I** **hope you all enjoyed this small vignette. After watching Mockingjay I really wanted to see the film explore more of Katniss' PTSD. After watching Mockingjay I wrote three of these small stories, and out of the three this is my least favorite. But, I hope you enjoyed it anyways. The next one will be uploaded next weekend. All feedback would be very much appreciated, but thank you for all those who read this.**


	2. Hunter

_**Author's Note:**_ Thank you to everyone who took the time to read and review my first chapter. I was thrilled to read some positive feedback, and hope you enjoy this next vignette. These collection of stories don't exactly follow a chronological timeline, but simply ideas I had and put together into one story. Each chapter is in many ways it's own story. I hope you continue to enjoy this one, as it continues to follow Katniss as she struggles with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I will upload the next vignette next week. Until then, enjoy and as always feedback is highly appreciated.

The sun seeped through evergreen trees, casting it's own tinted lighting through the forest pathway. Leather boots softly padded over dirt pathways, swift and quick, like a sure footed animal.

The wind brought with it aromas of all different parts of the forest. From the scent of spring flowers, to the old authentic smell of bark.

Her pace was steady, treading light as an agile doe, her footsteps nearly silent. She was enveloped in the leather jacket that was too large for her, and yet she felt more comfortable in this jacket than her own "new" skin. Brunette hair braided back neatly and out of her face, so it was easy to see her target. She felt at home.

It wasn't hard to hold a weapon again, or to carry a quiver of lethal arrows on her shoulders. Though this bow wasn't metal or militarized, she made it herself out of wood. She could feel the slight imperfections in her carving as she grasped it. These arrows weren't explosive, but made with the same wood as the bow and feathers of a quail.

Creeping forward, her brilliant grey eyes locked on a turkey, she slowly bent her knees. Softly, she lowered herself to the ground, and behind the cover of a bush. Naturally her hand reached for the end of an arrow, fitting the string through the nock of the arrow.

These movements were no longer a skill, they were natural. She pulled back the arrow, raising it's pointed tip towards the turkey. Crisp air blew back a loose strand of brunette hair, as she held her aim. As she looked down the rod of the arrow, past the tip, and towards the animal in her aim, she didn't see a turkey. She saw a life, one that she would end with a simple release of her fingers.

The last time she held a bow it wasn't a turkey in her aim, but the future president of Panem. Unlike that victim, this turkey didn't plan to corrupt a nation that was just reformed to prevent injustice. She let the turkey live, and came home empty handed.

A few days later she went out again, the sky was cloudier but the atmosphere nearly the same. She wore the same attire, brought the same weapons, and walked the same path through the forest until her eye caught the movement of a wild dog.

Her and Gale had used to hunt dogs all the time, they would even bring them to the Hob for Greasy Sae to make into stew. She took cover behind a rock, and slowly drew her arrow. Unlike the turkey, this animal was a predator. Perhaps she'd feel a little less guilt in killing something that had killed many other living things...

Releasing a slow breath she relaxed her bow arm, locking her aim. However just as she did the dog looked her way, brown eyes locking with her's. The beast's ears laid back against it's head, it's teeth bared as it's fur raised. Katniss held steady, eyes hardening, adrenaline pumping. Suddenly the dog began to morph into a larger size, a collar with the number two appeared around it's neck, it's eyes were no longer that of a mindless beast, but her well matched opponent from the first arena.

The arrow dropped from her hold and she ran home, empty handed. That night she had nightmares about Cato being ripped apart by the vicious wolf mutations, only this time their eyes were not of dead tributes. One wolf had brown eyes, like Cinna. One had sea green eyes, similar to Finnick's. One wolf in particular, the most vicious of the pack, had sharp silver eyes, like that of President Coin. At first she was simply watching this brawl, but suddenly she was the one being attacked by the wolves. Perhaps she should have killed the mutt when she had the chance.

The next morning she found herself sitting by a riverbank, quietly trying to craft a few new arrows, despite not having released a single one yet. After a few hours of crafting, a sudden noise caught her attention and she looked upward. Out of the brushes emerged a large full grown stag, who wandered close enough to the stream for her to get a good aim.

In all her years of hunting before the games, she had never shot a buck. She had caught a few does, maybe one of two fawns, but she had never seen a full grown buck in these forests, let alone get one in her aim. She was exposed, and the deer most likely could see her aim, but he wasn't scared. Her father had once gone on about how he had only once been fortunate enough to hit a stag, the year she was born. It provided him and her mother three weeks worth of food, and some to share with neighbors. He said it was one of the luckiest days in his life.

But just as she exhaled, ready to separate the acts of warfare from the art and sport of hunting, there was another sound. From behind the male deer, emerged a female and a young fawn. The male never moved out of her aim, but she lowered her bow in surrender. She wouldn't take this deer's life, she couldn't. Her own father was taken from her, and thousands of children lost their fathers during the war she started and lead. Today wasn't the day to release an arrow, the fawn deserved to have a father. Instead, she sat down on the cool rocks and observed the family of deer for several minutes before they gleefully pranced away.

She returned empty handed, but at least the humble deer family had made her smile. This was a rare thing.

Months passed, and Katniss began to lose hope that she would be able to release an arrow on an animal ever again. Prim had always been against her hunting, despite the fact that it kept them from starving. Perhaps now Katniss could afford to become a vegetarian. She wouldn't have to stop the heartbeat of another living being for the rest of her life...

She brought her bow and arrow with her on her walks, just because the presence of the weapon gave her comfort. However, one day in late spring, a flock of fowl flew in a V shape above her. Gazing upward at the birds, she couldn't help but smile at the memories of how many flocks of geese her and Gale took out, all in V formations similar to this.

She didn't realize what she was doing at first, but her hand moved back and grasped an arrow. A relaxed arm raised the weapon upward, and in one swift motion she pulled the arrow back behind her chest. It all happened so fast, but there was no hesitation. Eyes locked on her target, on a bird.  
Not a soldier, Not a peacekeeper. Not a fellow tribute. Not a mutt...a bird.

As she exhaled, the guilt and weight of the war's bloodshed seeped from her. The motions became natural and unrestricted, and the target no longer a martyr or a victim, but dinner. She relaxed her fingers, and without hesitation the arrow slipped through her grasp and cut through the air, hitting it's mark.

Katniss returned home that afternoon with dinner, enough to last her a couple days. Perhaps she'd even invite Haymitch over, if she was feeling generous. She'd pluck the feathers off the fowl, just like she used to back before the games. She'd eat a filling meal tonight, and all without guilt.

Her archery no longer meant vicious slaughter and bloodshed, because she was no longer in the games. She was able to adopt back her old hunting habits, eventually this ensured her family would never go hungry. Peeta would always enjoy her squirrels or duck, though Haymitch despised whenever she shot down geese, so she tried to avoid that. Hunting would become apart of her life until she was too old to hold a bow, and yet till this day she has never shot a stag, and never plans to.


	3. Fabric

**_Author's Note:_** This is the last of the three short stories I wrote following Mockingjay Part 2. I have no idea if I will write more, or if I'll leave it at these three. Nonetheless, I hope all enjoyed these :)

Effie Trinket, a Capitol citizen since birth, had been raised to worship one thing above all...style. It was the one downside to working with tributes in the poorest of districts, for years she had to put up with the atrocious coal dusted clothes of District Twelve. For someone used to Capitol standards, this was harder than most would believe. She often envied those who worked in Districts 1 and 2, or even 8. Why couldn't she get the textile district?

Effie grew to adore the rebellion, and her support for Katniss never was doubted. However, she couldn't stand the grey uniforms, and she often became a rebel herself, adding her own eccentric accessories to the dull style. After the rebellion won, the culture of the Capitol was slowly discarded and transitioned out of society. This included Effie's beloved fashion styles, and within ten years of the rebellion ending, every outfit Effie owned would be considered unconventional. She lost her old job, as the games were no longer in practice. She moved out of the Capitol, because she was often looked down upon for once being a Capitol citizen.

Ironically, Effie ended up in District Twelve, living not too far from Katniss and Peeta. She did not have a job, but instead was supported often by Katniss' hunting, Peeta's breads, and Haymitch's geese eggs (which she rather despised at first). While she often criticized Haymitch's attire, Katniss tried to help her find a local tailor in District Twelve. Since Katniss was loved by all those who had settled in District Twelve, the tailor was happy to design several pieces of clothing for Effie. They weren't Capitol standards, but were much better than the grey clothes Haymitch always wore.

Effie would often go out with Katniss and find plants she found beautiful (and approved as not poisonous by Katniss). She would integrate these flowers and plants into her new fashion style. And while she despised the stench of geese, she grew to spend most of her time at Haymitch's. They weren't officially a couple, but they could have easily been one. Katniss suspected maybe one day they may be, but for now they were all family, the only family they had.

One day, she even surprised Haymitch with a coat of her own "design", based off her new style of fashion. She picked out the fabric, and the inside of the coat was lined with the pelt of several rabbits. He stated bluntly he would look ridiculous in it when she gave it to him, however Peeta had caught him more than once wearing the jacket on bitterly cold mornings.

Victors usually cannot afford clothing that is on par with "Capitol Standards", and so after winning the games, victors would be supplied with an endless amount of clothing, courtesy of the Capitol. This clothing was for when they went on tour and did interviews, as the Capitol wanted them to look presentable. However, as part of the "many" perks of being a victor, they would get to keep this collection of high end clothing.

After the rebellion was won, Johanna Mason returned back to her home in District Seven. Having nowhere else to go, she decided home was the best place, even if she eventually knew she planned to move on.

Upon returning she was greeted with her old collection of Capitol clothing, which to her was just a waste of space in her closets. The moment she returned home she wanted to remove every essence of Capitol stench from her life. She ran through every closet in her very large house (Victors after all, have large houses), tearing out every fancy dress or costume that represented a tree. Sometimes she would tear the fabric clean off a hanger, she wished she had the energy to tear all the Capitol garbs into shreds.

Instead she piled all her interview dresses, her parade costumes, her arena uniforms, and any jewelry that came from the Capitol on top of a a large pile of firewood outside her house. She had chopped that wood down on her own, as she wanted her efforts to go into this ceremony, and not anyone else. She set fire to all of the clothes that came from the Capitol, and happily watched the brightly colored and once valuable pieces of clothing be devoured by the flames. She laughed loudly as Amber sparks ignited the pitch black sky above her.

Unlike Johanna, Katniss would never want to get rid of the clothes she obtained by the Capitol. Not because they came from the Capitol, but because they were Cinna's work.

While she would never wear her Mockingjay uniform again, she kept it in a safe place, and would show it to her children when they were old enough to understand.

She kept Cinna's most breathtaking of works in a large wardrobe, this included her red fire dress, her first and second parade dresses, and the Mockingjay wedding dress. Her daughter would one day view these dresses as mythical masterpieces, and Katniss would smile, knowing Cinna's work would not be lost to the ages.

On Katniss and Peeta's wedding day, she wore a dress almost identical to Cinna's Mockingjay wedding dress, except without the makeup the Capitol would expect, and it sadly didn't transform into a Mockingjay. She had designers who used to work for the Capitol, but now resided in District Eight, work with Effie to try and replicate Cinna's work. At the wedding Katniss made sure to mention Cinna, and her and Peeta made a toast to his contribution to the rebellion. He soon became a legend in District Eight, and his name well known throughout the new Panem.

As for the pin, Katniss had a small box where she kept some of the most precious objects she owned. The box was very simple, and was placed under her bed. Some nights, when nightmares plagued her sleep, or on certain days of the year when she felt the need to remember the past, she would pull out this box.

Inside the box was not just the golden Mockingjay pin, but a gold locket, a black pearl, a piece of old rope that was knotted, a picture of Annie and her son, an empty medicine/herb bottle, a silver spile, an old hospital band, and countless other items that held great meaning to her. With age, she knows like Peeta, she may one day forget people who were too important for her to forget. She keeps these items to remember, she can't afford to forget.

Annie Cresta eventually returned to her home in District Four. Her and Finnick had planned to move together into one house, but with Finnick gone she didn't know what to do. She offered his house to Katniss' mother, seeing as she was moving to District Four to practice medicine, and she gratefully accepted. A few weeks after the war ended, both went to Four, and Katniss' mother agreed to help Annie clear his belongings out.

Most expected Annie to not handle Finnick's death as well as she did. She wasn't known for her mental stability, and Finnick was one of the few who could help her overcome her fears and worries. Beetee was the one who broke the news to her, and while she cried for the majority of 4 days proceeding this news, Beetee, several rebel doctors, and even Prim, tried to help her through it. Doctors eventually said she could live independently, but Katniss' mother agreed to help her for the first couple months.

It was hard for Annie to go through his old belongings, boxing up most of it and leaving some things like furniture for Katniss' mom. It was a week long process, with the smallest things, such as a fishing line from their last time on the beach, bringing her to tears. Katniss' mom understood her pain, having lost of her own husband, and also not in the most sound of mind. She would talk to her, offer her methods of coping and even herbs that helped her sleep better, but sometimes Annie just needed some time alone to tie knots on the beach shore that was right outside both their houses.

When unpacking his final drawer, Annie found one of his light blue button up shirts, one he would wear often when they spent time together on the beach. Taking the shirt, she held it gently, pressing her cheek against the soft fabric and closing her eyes. The shirt smelt of the fresh salty waves that would crash against the beach outside her house, and yet also smelled vaguely of Finnick. Smiling sadly, she folded the shirt neatly and took it back to her house, as well as a few other of his possessions, including the trident from his first games.

That night she lay in bed, her windows open so she could hear the gentle lap of the waves, feel the soft breeze of the sea. She held his shirt close to her, and burying her head into the fabric as she peacefully let a few tears seep into it. But Annie slept soundly that night, her dreams filled with pleasant memories such as their time together in District Four, instead of graphic images of how her husband may have died. On nights when the nightmares or tears were unbearable, she would hold his shirt close to her. Over the years it would no longer smell of the ocean or Finnick, but nevertheless it provided comfort, and helped her feel not so alone.


End file.
